


The Bodyguard

by Zoeleo



Series: Rara Avis [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Batfamily Feels, Bodyguard, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Gen, Or Bruce adopts Jason but doesn't make him Robin, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 10:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoeleo/pseuds/Zoeleo
Summary: So maybe Bruce is overreacting just a little following Jason's kidnapping - between switching schools, signing up for self-defense classes, trackers in his sneakers...Jason draws the line at Bruce hiring a bodyguard. Bruce wishes his son would understand that his safety is the most important thing to him.Featuring smol adorbs Jason and completely-out-of-his-depth-but-trying-hard Bruce!





	The Bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little bit of fluff I wrote in a couple hours. Trying to get the creative juices flowing again. Immediately follows events of Anniversary pt. 2. 
> 
> Oops...Look what I did I accidentally made an OC again.

Bruce can see the words forming on his son’s tongue before he even opens his mouth – in the annoyed crease between his eyebrows and petulant turn to his mouth.

“Who the hell are these assholes?”

“Jason,” Bruce groans.

Jason knows better than to use that kind of language. He has been with them long enough that it is no longer a ubiquitous presence in his natural rhythm of speech. He still has a tendency to curse when he’s overly excited or startled, but under Alfred’s close watch his use of vulgar language has whittled down significantly. If he uses it now, it’s because he’s deliberately trying to be crude. Bruce wants to cover his face with his palms, but he can’t. It would be unprofessional. Especially today when he’s playing Bruce Wayne, competent cut-throat businessman, rather than Brucie Wayne, vapid socialite. He settles for rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“What?” Jason whines, affronted, “But they are! Look at ‘em!”

Jason gestures to the line of men standing in his office with his skinny arms, fingers splayed open dramatically. Somewhere down the line one of the men smothers a snigger. Bruce ignores him, eyes lingering on the little digits. A feeling he’s wholly unused to swells in his chest at the memory of a long night at the hospital with a bruised and drugged Jason curled against him while nurses worked at splinting the delicate bones. The splints had come off just three days ago. After the final reminder of his kidnapping was discarded, Jason’s spirits had bounced back stronger as ever. And with a new obsession, much to Bruce’s chagrin. Everything was ‘Nightwing _this_ ,’ and ‘Nightwing _that_.’ Dick had been absolutely insufferable until he’d finally packed up and returned to university.

“Jason, these men are professionals here to interview. They deserve your respect.”

His son’s face screws up in confusion.

“Interview for what?”

“For a very important position. For the most important job there is: to protect you,” Bruce explains solemnly.

“What?” Jason squawks and turns on his heel, “Like a bodyguard?”

The way his voice spikes up at the end almost sounds like excitement. Maybe this won’t go as badly as he’d feared.

“Exactly like that, yes,” he confirms.

Jason’s face flushes bright red.

“No, no, no. You can’t be serious, Bruce. You’re shitting me right?”

“Language, Jason. And no, I’m not joking. All of these men have already gone through a rigorous screening process and passed preliminary interviews with myself and Mr. Welk—you know Mr. Welk, he’s the head of security for WE.”

Bruce blinks. Or maybe it will go as badly as he feared. Jason’s face is turning an alarming shade of purple now and his tiny fists are clenching at his sides. He wishes Alfred were here. He can practically see the countdown clock to a tantrum ticking over Jason’s head.

“You can’t do this to me! I don’t need no fucking babysitter! You’re the one who signed me up for self-defense classes! I start next week and then I’ll be able to take care of myself—I don’t need one of these pricks following me with their nose up my ass all day!” Jason’s shouts crescendo into a shriek.

He’s turning blue now, Bruce realizes in mild panic. He really should have made Alfred come in for this. The elderly gentleman has far more experience in calming angry adolescent boys. Bruce is ashamed to admit it, but he has more than a few memories of screaming at the butler, stomping up the grand staircase and slamming manor doors in fits of teenage pique.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. One moment,” he states calmly to their audience.

The hand he drops on Jason’s shoulder is quickly and roughly shrugged off. Bruce winces. Since the kidnapping, Jason’s responses to touch had become even more confusing; fluctuating unpredictably between violent rejection and desperate clinginess. Bruce lowers his hand to hover at Jason’s mid-back, not touching - but close enough for Jason to feel its warmth through the fabric of his shirt. He herds the boy into the private bathroom attached to his office, sits him down on the closed toilet lid, and locks the door. He kneels down to be at the same height and tries to curl his shoulders in some so he’s not looming quite so threateningly over the boy – a trick he’s witnessed Clark use to transition from Superman to bumbling harmless reporter Clark Kent more times than he can count. Jason’s breaths are coming rapid-fire and there’s a suspicious wet sheen to his eyes.

“Jason, please, I need you to calm down. What’s going on?” he asks in the same voice Batman reserves for soothing rescued victims.

He never knew it would be so much harder not to let nervousness edge in when he’s talking to his own son, rather than a random citizen.

“I told you! I don’t need no fucking babysitter,” Jason reiterates miserably and kicks out at his shins. “I know I fucked up. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I won’t skip school or wander off or—I promise. I’m _sorry_.”

“Jason, Jason. Listen to me.” Bruce dares to rest his hand on Jason’s knee. “This is isn’t punishment. I’m not punishing you for what happened. I’m trying to make sure it never happens again. You’re too important to me. To Dick and Alfred—”

“Then why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“What?” Bruce rocks back on his heels in shock.

“I’ll be better. I _promise_. I won’t make anymore trouble for you,” Jason swears, eyes directed somewhere over Bruce’s shoulder.

“Jason, I’m not handing you off to someone else to deal with because you’re too much trouble. I meant what I said out there. This is about protecting you. It’s the most important job that exists, because you are the most important thing to me. Look at me please,” he cups Jason’s face and directs his gaze back to him, “You’re not going to see any less of me or Dick or Alfred. We will still be there for you whenever you need us. But we can’t always be there. Dick has school, I have work, Alfred has errands to run. This is so you’ll still be safe even when one of us can’t be there with you. That’s all. Do you understand?”

He waits for Jason to get his breathing back under control and even longer for him to nod shakily.

“This way you can go to the movies or library whenever you want. You’ll have someone you can practice jiu-jitsu with between Mr. Nguyen’s classes. Someone there with you while you’re at school—”

Jason’s head jerks up from its dejected curve, “What?”

He groans dramatically and Bruce backtracks trying to figure out what he said to set Jason off again.

“No, no, no. _Please_ , Dad. Not at school. Everyone already thinks I’m a freak there,” Jason pleads.

Bruce’s throat bobs painfully. Both at the honorific and the memory of Jason’s crestfallen expression when Bruce told him he had convinced the headmaster at Gotham Academy to re-enroll him. He knew Jason didn’t like it there, but the security was better and a diploma from the Academy would practically guarantee Jason admittance into any college of his choice afterward from Gotham U to Brown. Dick had always been a gifted student. He did well in his classes with a minimum of studying, but generally viewed education as an obligatory part of life. There was a difference between having a talent for learning and a passion for learning. Jason had the latter, and Bruce wanted him to have every opportunity to pursue it as far as he could. Explaining the long-term future benefits hadn’t done much to console the boy unfortunately.

“Subhi Al-Rifai has a bodyguard as well,” Bruce tries to reason.

Jason covers his face with his hands.

“Subhi _is_ a freak. He scrapes all the toppings off his pizza before he eats it. Who does that? It defeats the point of pizza,” Jason mumbles through his fingers.

Bruce tugs Jason’s hands down.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way. Just, give it a try for a year. One year, and then we can reconsider. Besides I thought you didn’t care what those ‘ _preppy-jockstrap-for-brains-douchecanoes_ ’ think about you,” Bruce says, forcing a grin.

“But whattabout _girls_ , Bruce? How am I supposed to get girls when I’ve got Lurch lurking behind me all the time?”

Bruce can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes. “You’re too young to be worrying about girls,” he answers bluntly and ruffles Jason’s hair.

Jason scowls at him. Finally he gives a hearty sigh, and swipes the back of his sleeves over his eyes.

“Fine, let’s get this over with,” Jason laments and stands with all of the somberness of someone walking to their own execution.

Bruce closes his eyes, allowing himself a small moment of relief before unlocking the door and following Jason out.

“Now, Mr. Welk and I have all of their files as well as a list of suggestions for questions you may want to ask,” he starts to inform his charge but Jason marches forward without listening.

He gives each man a critical once-over, looking more and more unimpressed as he goes. He points to the last man standing at the far end of the line, casually dressed in dark jeans and a leather flight jacket. The one Bruce had privately, desperately hoped Jason would pick anyone but. The sandy-haired candidate had reminded him entirely too much of Hal Jordan for his comfort but had come highly recommended by one of Alfred’s old British Special Air Service buddies.

“This one,” Jason announces confidently.

“Would you like interview him first, you mean?” Bruce prompts.

“Nah. I pick him.”

“Jason, Mr. Welk and I handpicked these men personally. It took a great deal of time. I request that you give them each your full consideration before making a choice,” Bruce tries to intervene.

“Don’t need ta,” Jason snarks back, “Everyone else is in one of those dumb monkey suits. He’s the only one not dressed like a douchecanoe.”

The man in question doesn’t even try to hide his amusement, chuckling at Jason’s audacity.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, “Jason.”

“You’re the one who’s making me do this, so I get to choose. It’s him or no one else, Bruce,” Jason tilts his chin up in a challenge.

 _Pick your battles_ , Alfred’s sage voice echoes between his ears.

“Fine,” Bruce relents, “If you would follow me please Mr. Jamison so we can go over the details of—”

“Please, Mr. Wayne. Call me Riley,” the man says with a crooked grin and sticks out his hand.

Bruce looks at it, where it hangs a good two feet too low for him to shake comfortably. He raises an eyebrow. Is this some kind of joke? But then Jason takes the hand with a shark-like smile and Bruce realizes he hadn’t been the one Riley was addressing at all. He starts to think he’s made a terrible mistake. He was supposed to be hiring a bodyguard for his son, not a partner in crime.


End file.
